


Home doesn't feel like home, not without you

by wordfrenzy (orphan_account)



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 14:31:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/wordfrenzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>And the garden, a sprouting of greenery and blossoms. A small hobbit hole, with the big, round green door that led to comfort — comfort he'd thought about for so long, enough that sometimes it had webbed through Bilbo's dreams whilst huddled in a cave or on top of a mountain, wind harsh against his face and wet with rain. He thinks it now, even though he's standing on his front lawn, because the home he remembers doesn't exist. Not anymore. Not now. Not ever.</i>
</p><p>Bilbo goes back home. Yet with each step it had felt more and more wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home doesn't feel like home, not without you

Bilbo Baggins had missed his books.

His armchair.

And the garden, a sprouting of greenery and blossoms. A small hobbit hole, with the big, round green door that led to comfort — comfort he'd thought about for so long, enough that sometimes it had webbed through Bilbo's dreams whilst huddled in a cave or on top of a mountain, wind harsh against his face and wet with rain. He thinks it now, even though he's standing on his front lawn, because the home he remembers doesn't exist. Not anymore. Not now. Not ever.

It's a beautiful day, no doubt about that. Hobbits tend to their own gardens, children play and climb trees, and it's never made him feel more out of place; funny, considering how he'd been ever so reluctant to leave in the first place, but where the sun might've been one of his many joys, to sit out on his bench and smoke from his pipe, to enjoy the little pleasures in his life, it feels like an uncomfortable second skin now, beating down in a wave of burning. The grime and dried blood on his clothes doesn't help, a rancid stench and dirt, belonging to —

No.

Bilbo shakes his head and, with shaky hands, opens the front door and steps in. It isn't all that surprising at what he finds; cutlery, valuable possessions, pawned off by whoever had been bold enough to take them. He's not angry, or even sad, doesn't care how they even managed to get their hands on his things anyway. As if it matters now, in a time like this, standing in old clothes and dirt under his fingernails.

The first thing he needs and does is run a bath, steaming hot and full to the brim with bubbles. He might have enjoyed it — might have enjoyed the feel of hot water up to his neck, a distraction for the sliver of a moment, but as he goes to take off his clothes, he feels the silken and silvery metal of Mithril. Funny, how the slight glint of light that reflects off it, along with its softness against his fingertips, can make a man freeze on the spot, aching and yet paralysed. More so that it makes Bilbo's eyes burn, where he wants to so badly blame it on the overwhelming scent of salt crystals, but that would be ridiculous and almost an insult. Minutes pass before he wipes at his face with haste and strips the rest of his clothes.

It provides him with a whole fifteen minutes of peace, but it's when he gets out that the cold, hollow feeling in his chest returns.   

Even after a week it does not lift, and a week later also when somebody, somebody severely unwanted, knocks on the door.

'No,' Bilbo chokes out. 'I don't want anymore visitors today, no more burglars to take my silverware. I've had quite enough of that today, thank you very much.'

There is another quiet knock, then: 'Not even for an old dwarf like me?'

'Bofur, I —' Is all he manages to force out when he opens the door, his old friend staring back at him with a slight twitch to his lips; he wears the signature hat and his hands are held up to his chest in comfort, and then he bows, something that makes Bilbo take an odd step back. 'Did — have you come all this way?'

'Well, of course. I had too, didn't I?' he says; a smile crinkles his face, age lines more prominent now, much like Bilbo's, the ones that he's only seen now. 'You'd think a hobbit would say goodbye before running off like that. Had to see if you'd got home safe, hadn't run into any goblins or trolls again. Nasty things they are, could spend hours marinating flesh before —'

Bilbo cuts Bofur off with a clear of his throat. 'Yes, uh, I know. Your visit wasn't necessary. I mean, you're welcome, of course, but you needn't have gone to such trouble.'

He invited him in anyway, led him to the same spot he'd sat in years before, singing and blunting his knives. Bilbo gives him tea, is amazed when Bofur declines scones, and settles down next to him. Even though it feels natural, as if they hadn't been apart from each other for a week, he comes to a standstill. There isn't much to talk about; well, there is, but not things Bilbo is keen to discuss, not if he wants the hollow feeling in his chest to expand and leave a gaping hole in its place.

But he must. It's why he takes a breath and says, 'Have they — have they been buried?'

Bofur gives him a sad smile at first, because he knows. He knows how exposed Bilbo feels right now, an open wound that's bleeding and no amount of care or attempts at approaching someone so fragile isn't going to do anything. He knows how the rug can be ripped out from under someone's feet, can detach from a world that used to be your own because you've grown close to another, all from the sagging in Bilbo's shoulders and red rims around his eyes. He knows Bilbo isn't the same, knows he won't for the rest of his long, unfortunate days.

'Yes, the day after the battle, at the break of dawn.' His hands fiddle on top of the table. 'Flowers are planted every day, a song sung in their honour, in his honour.'

'That's good. Good.' Bilbo nods in jerky movements, but has to push his fist again his mouth in case anything other than words slipped past. 'I really should do something, never should have left so early. Should have stayed for the ceremony, or something… never should have left.'

'Don't be so hard on yourself, Bilbo,' Bofur says, and reaches out to lay a hand on Bilbo's shoulder. He's still smiling, and it might be frayed around the edges, but he's still smiling. Bilbo wishes he could do the same. 'Thorin would have been glad you returned home, back to where you belong. He wanted that for you. I, and the rest of the Company, could see that.'

Bilbo shakes his head. 'And what of him? In the ground when —'

He chokes, unable to speak or even find the words. He scrubs his hands over his face, and he can still feel it all; the blood, the dirt. The Battle is there again, he's back there, in the screams and cries, the flying arrows and clashing swords, five armies at war and him in the middle of it, a young hobbit who didn't belong and yet running hadn't been an option. It's there, the worst of all, of the weakening rhythm of a heart under his fingertips as he'd tried to keep it beating.

'Thorin reclaimed Erebor for his kin, even if it resulted in his sacrifice. It was what he wanted. Thorin keeps his promises.'

'Yes. I suppose he did.'

'Have you planted the acorn yet?'

Bilbo frowns. 'How did you know that?'

'Keen sense of hearing, I have,' Bofur says. Bilbo has the suspicion that he doesn't, but overall it doesn't really matter how he knew of the conversation he had with Thorin; he's grateful, even, for reminding him to do so, a final farewell, as much as he doesn't want to say it. The answer must be plain on his face because Bofur nods and smiles again. 'You should think about doing it. Think of it as your promise.'

 

~

 

'I never thought I'd belong there — adventures, mountains, anything of the sort,' Bilbo says later on, staring down at his hands. 'But here. Well, it doesn't feel like here. Quite the opposite, actually.' He huffs a laugh, harsh and feels as if it tears up his throat like a knife, because his eyes burn again, and it should be ridiculous, and the way that Bofur looks at him with such an understanding makes a tear slip out and roll down his cheek; he wipes it away, swallows back the the tight sensation. 'Erebor… I'd visit. I would love to. But it doesn't feel right, at the moment. Not… not without him.'

Bofur nods and pats him on the back. 'When you're ready. But know you're one of us. Always have been. Ever since you left The Shire.'

He looks around his little hobbit hole, around the few things of his property are left. It is cosy, and warm. He can read by the fire until the late hours of the night, can sit at his kitchen table and eat crispy fish, can smoke his pipe outside and watch the world go by, but it's not what he wants wholeheartedly anymore. In Hobbiton, he can't climb the highest mountains, can't dangle from a burning tree, can't fight a dragon, or feel the wind against his skin as he sits upon an eagle.

No, Bag End may be his home at heart, but now it must make room for the land of dwarves. Bilbo Baggins has Thorin Oakenshield to thank for it. It's why, even though the bitter hollow feeling in his chest still lingers, and he wishes he could go backward in time and change it, he is so very thankful the thrills and friendship and love he has seen and been given.

'I daresay I'll see you again, all of you,' Bilbo says. 'Or, if ever — the pantry is free for raiding, for times sake. The door is always open. Don't bother knocking.'

 

~

 

_Before; Beorn's._

The atmosphere is full of snores, stars and a moment that Bilbo hopes won't be interrupted.

He stands outside, hands behind his back and he shifts from foot to foot. It's barely past midnight, and Bilbo waits because he said he would, even if he's still a little on edge from the past events, like jumping in front of Azog with only a small sword that shook in his grip or standing in a place with shadows and unusual noises from the woods, because he said he would.

An acorn — the one he'd picked up moments earlier — sits in his pocket, twiddled between his fingers. Maybe it's silly, to capture this measly piece of nature in hopes of planting it in his own garden, to remember not only his adventures, but the company and, most definitely, the man he'd said he'd wait out in the cold for. A brisk cold, it is, with the trees shuddering along with the breeze and a thin layer of frost laying itself across the grass, which will soon disappear by morning. A cold that dissolves as he feels a heavy weight settle on his shoulders, followed by a pair of arms slipping around his torso.

'I never thanked you,' Thorin says from behind him. 'For saving my life.'

'If I recall correctly, you did. Even threw a hug in there, too.'

Thorin turns Bilbo around, hands holding his upper arms. 'It did not feel enough. How can I ever repay your debt?'

He isn't the type to be affectionate; well, not the type to initiate it, that's more of Thorin's job, but Bilbo reaches up and cups Thorin's face and nods a little too harshly and his hands are a little too shaky and his smile is a little too sad. 'Stay alive, maybe?'

Maybe Bilbo would've appreciated the soft smile that curves Thorin's lips if he weren't so serious. It's silly, really, to think such things, but maybe it's a morbid realisation that this isn't just an adventure anymore — it's danger, the risk of loss and injury, grief and so much more, what he'd thought about before ever making the decision to join them. It has its amazing moments, but that doesn't make Bilbo think of the bad aspects any less.

It makes it worse by Thorin leaning down and placing a gentle kiss to his mouth, his hand running down Bilbo's cheek. 'You need not worry,' he says, breath warm and touch unusually tender for a dwarf who wields a sword like a warrior. 'I promised you I would remain by your side a long time ago.'

'Yes, but —'

'Especially since I plan to do so once I take back Erebor.'

Bilbo stops mid-sentence, and shakes his head, an odd laugh leaving him. 'I'm sorry, excuse me, but I thought you said —'

'I did,' Thorin says, another smile that means he knows exactly what he's doing. 'I meant what I said, how wrong I was about you. I wish to prove myself. Returning home is something I want, but to have the place beside me filled with your presence is something else entirely. You do have a place amongst us, with me in Erebor.'

'Don't be ridiculous, Thorin — I mean,' Bilbo sighs, backtracking, even though he's likely to say it all wrong anyhow. Whilst Thorin has a gift of affection and natural ease, Bilbo is blessed with incoherence. 'It's a bit short notice, isn't it? I haven't been home in an awfully long time, and if I were to join you, I would have to sell Bag End. I'm not saying I don't want to come with you… exactly, but I have the feeling this is only talk and you will regret it come morning.'

Thorin only grinned now. 'I am not influenced by anything, dear burglar, but solely by truth. Would you feel better with proof?'

'As I've said, my name is Bilbo; honestly, we're past informalities, if that's what you'd call them,' he says, gesturing to the way Thorin has his hands on Bilbo's waist, thumbs stroking the sliver of skin that had peeked out from under his shirt. 'It depends on what this proof is. Bribery is… not opposed. You know, I've no idea why The Company think you're stubborn. I can't see it myself.'

And then he's shoved against the nearest tree, hands pinning him against the scratchy bark. Bilbo stutters out a breath, feeling the tips of his ears burn and the sudden proximity of Thorin. It's hard to get back at the conversation at hand when this happens — and it happens whenever they are given the chance — not that Bilbo complains. Instead, with only the slightest bit of reluctance, he fists the braids of Thorin's hair, dropping his head back against the tree when a pair of lips run down his neck.

'If it's bribery you want,' Thorin breathes out, 'it's bribery you shall get.'

 

~

 

Maybe if Bilbo had agreed to live in Erebor, Thorin would be alive.

Maybe if he lived in Erebor, Thorin would be alive.

Maybe Thorin would be alive.

All he has left is the acorn. It feels like a petty piece of rubbish that can never compare to the man — to the man he loved. A man he'd never been able to say those three words to. And yet, think of it as your promise, still runs through his head, in the middle of the night and halfway through his dinner, outside whilst he smokes and as soon as he wakes.

It takes him months before he picks up a spade and kneels down in the grass, digs a small hole and stares down at it for a few minutes. The acorn sits in the middle of his palm, and it's there, all of what he wants to remember, the bad, the ugly, but the goodness that has burst his heart; the Company and their acceptance, Fili and Kili's mischievous behaviour, the warmth of Thorin's love that he has been blessed with. And it's still there, always has been, even in this little acorn, and the smile from Thorin that had come with it, bright and the old Thorin he remembers.

The man he loves.

He lays it in the dirt and covers it up, then holds his hand to his lips and presses it to the new-to-be tree, as if giving it a kiss. The air is clear when he looks up, the first time in a while, and he knows, knows what he wants to do.

As he runs into Bag End and packs a bag, slams the door and feels that same feeling he'd felt years before, he cries — of course he cries, but it doesn't cause the hollow feeling in his chest to grow or a choking in his throat, but he laughs with joy, a glorious sound that can be heard as he leaves The Shire again.

Because he's ready — he's ready to climb the mountains and soar across the skies, back to where he belongs.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy belated new year.
> 
> This was my first ever Bilbo/Thorin fanfic — truth be told, I'm quite pleased. It may be a tad OOC, or overall bad, but I'm still trying. The best part is writing for this universe, (like expect some Fili and Kili next time.) ♡


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